"I have plenty, Paulina; we always calculate to have a good store of necessaries. Susan and I think, if we don't want them, they will come in play for somebody—and, with a little industry and forecast, they are easily got. You can buy a dozen such caps as that of mine for the half of what one of yours cost, Paulina."
"I can't help that now," retorted Paulina, pettishly; "I did not mean to speak so," she added, after a moment's pause—"but oh, Lottie, every thing stings me."
"And I am sure," said the gentle Charlotte, "I did not mean to hurt your feelings; but I did not know but you might think it strange such a poor person as I should boast of abundance."
"You poor, Lottie!—you poor!—oh, I can tell you what it is to be poor. To be without any worldly possessions is not to be poor, for you have a treasure laid up in heaven. To be what the world calls friendless is not to be poor, for you have God and conscience for friends. But to be as I am, memory tormenting!—without hope—to have no inward peace—no store of pleasant thoughts of good done! Oh, this is poverty. Poverty is nothing outside Lottie."
For a moment, Paulina's mind would seem to have more even than its natural strength and clearness: but such bright intervals were short, and succeeded by hours when she seemed to be heavily sleeping away her existence; and Charlotte would long to see her awaken to a consciousness of her ebbing life, and employing the little time that remained in preparation for her departure. But, alas for those who leave their preparation for
